Indiana
by PaintRedRoses
Summary: The trick of love is to never let it find you...House/Cameron. NOW COMPLETE
1. Cameron 1

Backstory: Takes place after Cameron resigns in S3.

**Disclaimer: I don't own House or Indiana by John MchLaughlin**

**IMPORTANT NOTE! PLEASE READ!: okay, so here's the deal. Pretty much, the future of this story is up to you (more or less). I wasn't sure whether to either **

**A) Leave it a one-shot like this**

**B) Make it a 2 shot, same song, but with House's POV of seeing her**

**C) Make it a full length story, all inclusive.**

**So PLEASE review and tell me what you think.  
**

_I'm glad I never lived next to the water_

_So I could never get used to the beach_

_And I'm glad I never grew up on a mountain_

_To figure out how high the world could reach_

You love normality. How drab, how...you.

So you think you can just stop the world and start a new one? Leaving changes nothing. You moved from Arizona to Oregon to Idaho to Ohio to Nebraska and now...you're here. Only six months at each place. Funny how long it seems. Longer than it ever felt with him.

You quit before you can feel anything like you did. You quit before you can feel at all. Still, you stay here, with your husband of 2 months. Marriage changes nothing, he's still a faceless stranger.

He's the opposite of everything you know. He comes from a family who loves him inside and out. They love you just as much. He graduated with a 3.7, owns a school photography business and makes enough to support your family...Just you and him. Someday you'll have children. It will make you love him even more. A kid changes nothing.

The two of you hide away in a small town, population of maybe 1,000. Maybe. You like that. You recognize the faceless many. Greet them with kind smiles at the supermarket.

"Hon?" your stranger calls.

"Mhm..." you meet him halfway in the foyer.

"What's for dinner? It's been a long day." You walk up to him, and help him take off his tie. The chill of the fabric sooths your velvet hands.

"I just got back from the Hospital. If you want I can drive into the city. Yeah? I'll pick up a movie and some food."

"Sounds great, Allison." he gives you a genuine smile. A gentle hand cups your face and strokes your cheek lovingly. Close your eyes, just feel the the soothing circular motions. You hope for a callous, or hardened skin. You hope for something that isn't imaginary and perfect. Hope changes nothing.

Your stranger's hand is not _his_.

_I love the miles between me and the city_

_Where I quietly imagine every street_

_And I'm glad I'm only picturing the moment_

You slip into a homey car and start the ignition. It's not too long of a drive to get to a decent Blockbuster or restaurant. Only 45 minutes- a half hour without traffic. The radio plays music you've heard before...though the name of the song slips your memory.

A motorcycle vrooms parallel to you. The ignition roars obnoxiously, aiming to grab someone's attention. Your eyes roll and you flash an evil glare to your left. For a split second you see his face. A face you haven't seen for 3 years. You think of your possible future- though it was a fantasy from the start. You know that all too well. You take a closer look, hoping to find some sign, some hint of him.

You don't.

_I'm glad he never fell in love with me_

You tell yourself there's a reason that you're here right now.

It's because you're happy and content.

You tell yourself you live easily and nicely. Your formula doesn't include him. Formulas change nothing.

_For some the world's a treasure to discover_

_And your scenery should never stay the same_

There's a reason you change places every six months. You want to disappear. Jersey to Arizona was just the start, though that move wasn't alone. Arizona to Oregon was with Chase too. You laced fingers publicly for all to see. You were so proud of him, of you, of the life you'd created. Oregon to Idaho was alone, physically and emotionally. There were occasional hook-ups between Ohio and Nebraska. Finally you settle down with him. And you like it. You like Corey...Your stranger.

A change is always good for your emotional stability. Isn't it?

Change is certainly something.

_They're trading in their dreams for explanations  
_

_All in an attempt to entertain_

God dammit he floods your head. You can't help it. This is the first time in years its happened to you. The first time where you've...missed him. You missed his gruff outlook on everything, his hobbled walk, his denial of any emotion. But that's it. That's all you miss.

You certainly don't miss his lame excuses. You were too young, too green, you cared too much, you loved Chase, he didn't love, on and on and on.

All over analytical concoctions.

_I love the miles between me and the city_

_Where I quietly imagine every street_

_And I'm glad I'm only picturing the moments_

_I'm glad he never fell in love with me._

You're happy. You're happy. You're happy.

The damn motorcycle cuts you off. Your frail hand slams on the car horn.

He flips you the bird.

_This trick of love is to never let it find you_

_It's easy to get over messing up_

You moved to escape them. You moved to escape him.

That's working for you. You drive up to the movie rental store. Slam the door. Your patience is running thin. Your head is swirling around. Too much thinking...all too much. Thinking changes nothing.

_I know the how's and whens_

_But now and then he's all I think about_

He kissed you. You know the date.

He took you out. You know the date.

You remember every diagnosis for every case with him.

Every eye roll he gave you, you know the circumstances. The how, the who, and the when are just scenery. Unimportant-just an added feature. The real question is why.

Why the hell is he so bloody dense. Your feet guide you into Blockbuster, and you scan for a movie worthwhile.

_I wonder what it feels like to be famous_

_But wondering's as far as I will go_

_Cause I'd probably lose myself in all the pictures_

_And end up being someone I don't know _

You look at the beautiful women on the covers of the array of DVDs. You missed feeling beautiful for people. For anyone. For him.

You reach for a favorite of Corey's, and a hand touches your own.

Blue, that's all there is. That's all you see. That's all you care about. Your hand jumps back all by itself.

You give him a half smile.

"Dr. Cameron." he hums monotonously.

"Dr. House," attempting to use the same tone...your voice cracks. He gives you a nod, and walks crookedly away.

You stand there. Alone.

_So it's probably best I stay in Indiana_

_Just dreaming up the world as it should be_

Get back in your car. Return home. Return to life. Reality.

He climbs on his motorcycle and drives away. What the hell was he doing here? You shake it off

The first time in 3 years...now what?

Seeing him changes nothing.

_Where everyday's a battle to convince myself_

_That I'm glad he never fell in love with me_


	2. House 1

**A/N: Here's chapter 2-this probably will be a full fic, but I"m not sure. Please tell me what you think. Enjoy. Constructive criticism is always appreciated and encouraged. There is a bit of crude language maybe once. I'm sure everyone will be able to tolerate it. So....yeah! I hope you like it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own House, Indiana by John McLaughlin, or any other brand names mentioned in the following.  
**

_I'm glad I never lived next to the water_

_So I could never get used to the beach_

_And I'm glad I never grew up on a mountain_

_To figure out how high the world could reach_

_Damn job. Damn Cuddy. Damn lecture_, you think. Your leg cramps even more from the flight. The treacherous hour or two of sitting, smushed in between a hypochondriac, whose neck was adorned with a large cross nearly the size of his face, and a pregnant teenager that sat bow legged and ran up to puke every half an hour or so. You were pretty sure it wasn't from that thing growing in her.

"Where are you from?" she asks you before she pops her twelfth breathmint in her mouth.

"Princeton." you grumble, hoping she'll get the message. She waits for you to question her-only for a moment or so.

"I'm from Laguna. Laguna Beach."

"Hmm..."

"Like LC?" she clarifies, clutching the armrest, as the flight becomes turbulent.

"Bitchin'" you smirk. Her perfectly arched eyebrow raises from your dated saying. You feel old...decrepit. Just tuck that feeling in your back pocket and move on. Her chocolate eyes hide away as her lids close in release. That frail mouth of hers lets out an "oomph". You don't care, just simply whip out your Gameboy and play that new Guitar Hero game they made.

"What's it like in Laguna?" The born-again speaks.

"Oh, you know." she shrugs off, tickling her oversized stomach. The man cringes.

"Do a lot of people get...you know?"

"What?" Is she that stupid? He gestures to her stomach. That confused look on her face remains glued on.

"Pregnant!" you exhale with force. "Do people in your neck of the woods get pregnant?"

"Um... excuse me?"

"He wants to know if a lot of people get pregnant in the OC."

"I just think that such behavior is...well..."

"Well what?"

"In the bible it-"

"Oh, my God. Shut up!" You grunt.

Your blue eyes roll in annoyance. You don't talk for the remainder of the flight. It's not too bad. The saint-in-training shuts up and apologizes. Malibu Barbie eyes you skeptically for the entirety of the flight.

You think.

Indiana...what an awkward place to be landing. You've never stepped foot on this ground, smelled this air, memorized life here. The ever-so recognizable pain surges through your thigh. You suck in a thin slice of air. Pop a Vicodin. Ignore it.

Suckers in neon orange vests come to aid you as you hobble off of the plane.

"Hello, sir. Welcome to-"

"Shut up. Leave me alone. Where is the damn car rental"

"Down the escalator, just on the left. Next to baggage claim."

Deal with stupid people. Get a car key, and leave.

It's old, and boring. You're going incognito this time around.

Maybe it's better not to be noticed.

_I love the miles between me and the city _

_Where I quietly imagine every street_

_And I'm glad I'm only picturing the moment_

_I'm glad she never fell in love with me._

"Um, excuse me, sir." The pregnant girl calls. How the hell are you two still in contact.

You turn around. "What?" She waits for you to come over to her, though you have no intention of meeting those needs. Instead, she waddles over to you.

"Thank you. That guy was a real jerk."

You say nothing.

"I mean, I've gotten a lot of shit from this and whatever, and you were really nice." Your eyebrows raise.

"Are you delusional?"

"It was a compliment..." she defends.

"Listen, kid, I don't give a damn about you or your little parasite for that matter."

She splits an auburn end, embarrassed at her bold gesture. Finally she looks up, and her green swirls with your blue.

"You could've had a headache, or maybe you really did care. Either way, I think you told him to shut up because it was right."

_You do it because it's right._

She looked like her, even sounded like her. The only difference was that she wasn't a pregnant teenager, who'd probably turn to prostitution later on in life. Without a response, you turn on a heel and slink away.

Into the car.

Out of the lot.

Onto the street.

Suddenly shoved into this god-forsaken hellhole.

_Mm Bop_, rings through your bluetooth, radiating in your ears.

"Hello, my pretties." he sings caustically.

"House. You're there...good."

"Oooh, you're too old to be 13. Where is my bisexual babe?" Your foot presses on the gas.

"It doesn't matter. I knew you wouldn't pick up if it was me. Anyway, there's a room booked for you at the Holiday Inn, it's only about 45 minutes out of Indianapolis." Cuddy informs rather awkwardly.

"Lovely. There better not be bugs. I'm not a fan"

Without another word, you turn off the device. Grumbling until you reach a spot that catches your eye. A local Blockbuster accompanied by a Chinese takeout.

You wince at the sound of your own three-legged walk, noting its disgusting qualities. You hate being pitied. And it was only recently that you noticed how others saw you. Only recently that you _pretended_ not to care. Why the sudden change? Caring changes nothing

Ignoring the movie titles, you solely consider the movies with attractive women on the front. One in particular catches your eye. A hand much smaller than yours snags it a half a second before you. And you're bold enough to see who it is.

"Dr. Cameron." you acknowledge, hiding your confusion well.

Indiana. Indiana of all places.

"Dr. House." You hear a crack. She's nervous, quaking in your presence.

She was always nervous. You walk away... if she saw you any more, maybe she'd see your surprise. Maybe she'd see your curiosity. Maybe she'd see that you'd avoided every convention in Arizona, just because you hate reunions.

Karma is a fucking bitch.

_For some the world's a treasure to discover_

_And your scenery should never stay the same_

_They're trading in the their dreams for explanations _

_All in an attempt to entertain_

You both exit at nearly the same time. Though, being the ever-so courteous gentleman you are, you allow her to exit the seemingly vacant parking lot first. There are two choices that lie ahead, the ideas jumble inside that over-sized brain of yours.

1. Kick it at the crappy hotel.

2. Shack up with Cameron.

Of course, you follow her home. The winding twists and turns of the road keep you on the edge of your seat, and that panoramic, repetitive view of pine trees is simply alluring. That bleak odor of pathetic desperation and isolation consumes you. It smells like her. It's just her style.

You've always like that style. You skim through the file cabinets in your memory, as to why you could never "love her" (as she put it(what the hell was love anyway!(?)))

You were too old.

Maybe not anymore, right? It's been three years. While she was there, you told her that you'd kiss her once she developed a wrinkle.

She never did. It didn't matter though, she kissed you anyway. Three years, and still no definite wrinkle. You notice the beginnings of ones on her forehead. _Probably from caring too much_, you think.

She loved Chase.

She did. And you told yourself that every day. Even after you fully believed it.

It never would have worked.

It was a comprehensive reason. You didn't need to go into detail with that one, right?

Your head snaps itself into reality. The bike leans into the curve of the street, carrying you with it, and up the winding road you soar.

You look at the house. It's tiny, and quaint. There are two cars in the driveway.

Awesome...

_But I love the miles between me and the city_

_Where I quietly imagine every street_

_And I'm glad I'm only picturing the moment_

You hide away in the corner, cursing yourself for acting like such a creep, lurking in the shadows and whatnot. She whips out her keys, and searches for the right one, among many others. A frail hand runs through her auburn hair, and then moves to her eyes. In one hand, she juggles a movie or two, in the other, she has a plastic bag full of Chinese takeout. Daftly, she places the single correct key in her mouth, and shoves it into the keyhole, maneuvering the device with her head at first, and then her fingers.

She looks so uncomfortable.

"Hey!" she calls, "Can you give me a hand?"

A tall man walks out.

Roomate? Friend of a friend? Friends boyfriend? Gay best friend?

He gives her a small kiss on the lips.

That's what the ring was for. Damn. You thought maybe it was a prank.

Allison Cameron hasn't been pining after you all these years, like you wanted, has she?

_I'm glad she never fell in love with me_

Secretly, you're glad she didn't. She wouldn't have been happy.

Even more secretly, you wished she'd did. For more than bragging rights.

_The trick of love is to never let it find you_

_It's easy to get over messing up_

Bravely, you crookedly walk over to the doorway. It's a walking contradiction. There's a mezuzah on the doorway, that's adorned with beautiful shades of blue and green glass, spiraling above the hidden words. On the opposite side, a crucifix, encrusted beautifully with fusions of red is displayed. Both shelter the house from every kind of danger-except you.

You thought she was atheist.

Before you can change your all too impulsive mind, your cane bangs on the door for you.

The door opens just for you-only for you.

"Trick or treat." you mock.

"House?" She's genuinely surprised. How stupid.

"Of course. Did you expect someone else. We have some catching up to do, my little Cameron Care Bear. Or do you have a new last name I should know about?" You hang on the doorway, molding to its shape. You fit there.

"I'm still Cameron." Your eyebrow raises in half confusion, half amusement, "but I'm married. I didn't want to change my name"

You stay silent. "Why are you here?" she practically begs to you.

"Why are you?" you reply wither fervor.

"I like change," she insists. "I like facing new challenges every day."

"No you don't." a scoff pours out of your mouth, "You were probably the kid who Trick-Or-Treated until they were seventeen, just so they wouldn't have to face the challenge of peer pressures at a real party."

"That was the worst comparison I've ever heard."

"You had challenges with me."

"No. I didn't. Why are you here?"

"Why are you?" Back to square one.

"God dammit, House. You don't change." Before you get a chance to entertain her with an answer, a tall man appears. He's toned, and well-polished. His smile is perfection, and his scruff is virtually invisible.

"Allly? Who is it?" You cringe at her nickname.

Silence.

"Allison?" You cringe even more at her full name.

"Oh! Sorry. Corey, this is my old boss. Gregory House. House, this is my husband-"

"Corey, Corey Richards." He snatches your hand and shakes it firmly.

What a tool.

This guy's like a fucking tool shed. You smile, and you're not quite sure why.

_I know the hows and whens_

_But now and then_

_She's all I think about_

He's nothing like Chase. He's certainly nothing like you.

I guess you always knew Cameron's type would end up being anyone with a penis.

Why do you care anyway?

_I wonder what it feels like to be famous_

_But wondering is as far as I will go_

_Cause I'd probably lose myself in all the pictures_

_And end up being someone I don't know_

"Oh!" Corey exclaims, "Haven't I seen you in one of those medical magazine's Ally's always reading?" You shrug.

"Maybe once," she answers for you, "I haven't paid much attention." She glares at you.

"So what are you doing now, Cameron? Where the hell is a hospital around here?" It's a damn good thing she didn't care about some dumb article in some dumb magazine. It could've made you soft.

"I run the E.R. And the hospital is about half an hour away." She's so damn cordial...so cold.

"So, Greg, what brings you to my humble abode?"

_Tool_.

"Well, _Cor_, Dr. Cuddy from PPTH (Cameron will explain the acronym later), sent me to a conference lecture thing. And I have no where to stay. Apparently, Cuddles messed up my reservation. And since we bumped into each other..."

"Of course! Mi casa es su casa," Corey grinned. Damn him and his perfect orthodontia.

"Corey, I'm not sure that's the best idea. It's cramped as it is, and the guest room is messy."

You see him shush her.

_So it's probably best I stay in Indiana  
_

_Just dreaming up the world as it should be_

_Where everyday is a battle to convince myself_

_That I'm glad she never fell in love with me._

"Wonderful!" you ooze sarcasm and synthetic saccharine.

"Ally will show it to you." She guides you down the hall and to the right, her bottom lip quivering.

"We're gonna watch a movie. Wanna join?" she offers through gritted teeth.

"Nah, I have work to do."

"Liar."

"Depends on how you define work."

You see her try to smile. It's only then you see her disheveled appearance. After probably a 48 hour shift, and several scrub changes. It reminds you of when she was infatuated with you.

"God, House, I spent...." she exhales dramatically, "Nevermind"

Before she leaves, she only gives you a sad, sort of backwards glance.

And that's enough for you.

**A/N: Okay! Review please! I don't care whether you hated it and you want to tell me so. Just review! haha, Thanks guys!**


	3. Cameron 2

**Mkay, here's the deal with how this'll work. Only the first two chapters and the last two chapters are going to be set to song. It'll switch of H/C each chapter. and.....yes. I believe that's it. On we go. P.S. Idk, if I mentioned this before, but Cameron left directly after season 3. So season 4&5 don't exist in my story. :)  
**

**OH, and please review!**

Your eyes open to an empty room. It's not surprising. He leaves hours before you do, and maybe it's better that he does. He doesn't see your pale face without make up, he misses your knotted hair, piled atop your head. He leaves before the tiny "Good morning" kiss, in an attempt to work around the morning breath. Yes, maybe it's best that he misses that routine that most couples find so endearing.

You stretch and yawn like a lioness. Your un-manicured fingers lace and rise above your head, letting your naval show. Those eyes of yours drift over to your alarm clock, it's only 6:30. Slowly, your mind leads your body to the bathroom, as you inspect yourself. Dark circles, messy hair, pale face...the usual.

Before you have time to forget, you ache to check on that familiar face. Without second thoughts, second guesses or second chances you're there, in his temporary domain.

"You're up?" you remark

"You're surprised."

"Um...yes. It's 6:30 in the morning. Shouldn't you be passing out about now?"

"Fiesty" his nose crinkles.

"Realistic", you correct, not leaving anything up to interpretation. You see his fingers move at light speed on the laptop thats perched on his stomach, as he lounges in bed. As you lean in, eyes ablaze with curiosity, he inspects you. Self consciously, your hands pull down the backs of your boy shorts. "Work?" you guess.

"I have Thirteen do that for me"

"Thirteen?" you question

"She's new-ish. Three years old." he smile, regret hiding behind your eyes. You've been replaced.

"Oh..."

"Jealous?" he attempts to pawn off coolly. Inside, you can see him leaping with joy. He just loves to one-up people.

"I'm sure you'd just love that."

"It would have its pro's and con's."

"Mmm" you agree haphazardly. After a few moments of genuine awkward silence, you ask, "So what is it you're doing?"

"Baby names. I figured you and Corey are bound to have the little scamps running around the House. Breaking glass figures, painting the walls with their boogers...Oh! Did you know that 'Corey' means 'hollow'."

"Hollow?" you scoff, folding your arms delicately across your chest.

"Appropriate." Your eyes roll, as you climb into bed with him, leaning over his shoulder, in an attempt to see what other names comes up. You look up everyone you know.

Robert means "Bright Fame"

Eric means "Always Ruler"

James means "supplanter"

Lisa means "God Is My Oath"

Allison means "Noble Kind"

Gregory means "Watcher"

"Appropriate" you mock as his name appears on the screen.

"So, what are you going to name the little sucklings" he avoids deep conversation. He knows where it could be headed.

"I'm not."

"Little Corey can't handle you?"

"Shut up,"

"Ooooh," he over exaggerates his comprehension, "_You_ can't handle _him_"

"Seriously? Even _you_ can't buy that. He got a vasectomy"

"Um...gay?"

"Shut up House. I think it's nice of him. It's an easier procedure, and he offered. I don't see why most men think it's such a big-"

"Don't even finish that."

"I'm changing" you inform him, before turning. The sides of your head pulse and ache. Your fingers dance on your temples as you slide down the hallway towards your room.

"Coming!" he calls, as he shakily makes his way up from the bed, finally catching himself with his cane. Just as you hook on your red bra, he enters. You see a look of mock disappointment play in his eyes. Though the way his fingers gently vibrate, and how his eye brow cocks up, ever so slightly makes you wonder.

"Corey, Corey, Corey...Closing down the shop so soon."

"I'd think you would have too." she remarks from her walk in closet.

"Thanks but no thanks. So, why'd the hero do it."

"He thought I wanted him to."

"Did you?"

He pops a pill

"It's irrelevant"

"Not really."

He pops a pill.

"It's a long story. I have to go to work."

He pops a pill, "God dammit! That's your third in three seconds. Lay off"

"You're bitchiness is endearing," You snatch the bottle from him, and shove it in your pocket.

"I'll see you when I get home."

o0o

You enter through the doorway after an incredibly exhausting day.

"You smell like puke"

"Oh, thank you Doctor."

Your eyes search for your stranger, though you know it's useless.

...

...

"He's not home, is he?"

"Negative. He called once or twice."

"And..."

"I didn't answer. The phone was walking distance. And, you know, bum leg"

...

...

"You're wearing a red bra today..." he observes. You nod half heartedly, not caring where this is going.

"You're not getting laid."

"Only because a stray dog showed up at my doorstep. I'm not so sure if you want to hear me scream from the room next door" you hiss.

....

"And for the record, I have an incredible sex life, thank you."

"Mmm, I'm sure, It's _sooo_ interesting."

"House, that's my _husband_ you're mocking." you attempt to warn. You were never good at that whole fierce thing, were you.

"All you have to do is tell me why"

"It's nothing." you drawl out the word to ensure precise comprehension.

"So say it." he remains on your couch, breathing your air, taking your space, making it his own.

"We got in a fight about kids, he said he wanted 3 boys and a girl. I said I didn't want to make any commitments to something I wasn't sure about. So the next morning he flew out and-"

"Snip snip."

"Happy?"

"Not even close."

"_Riiight_," you recollect, "When are you ever?" He shrugs and lifts himself up.

You catch him daftly by the arm, daring to look directly into his eyes. Your pupils refuse to shake, refuse to move, refuse to take on any human qualities. Slowly, your other hand burns holes into his sides as it trickles down his ribs, his hip, his ass. Your hand dips into his deep back jean pocket, and pulls out a red, lacy thong.

"Thanks," you whisper, with a quick wink, and then skid into your room to change into it.


	4. House 2

**Sorry it took so long. I was hoping to get more than one review, but thank you for reading anyway. I want to make sure that people are reading, so I'm aiming for 3 reviews-that's not that much. If I don't get 3, I think I'm going to end this full fic and work on one-shots more. Or maybe even my schoolwork. haha, who knows. So, thank you for reading! Enjoy**

**House...**

"Your bitchiness is endearing," you chide, hoping to push a button or two. Or maybe pop one of those buttons on her shirt. You're not really sure. Either way, you stare her down, and jingle your Vicoden bottle like a maraca.

The grasshopper snatches the pebble from her master's hand. Before a word of contradiction erupts from your mouth you hear her.

"I'll see you when I get home."

You watch her leave for her boring job, in the boring ER, in her boring life. Who the hell even gets sick in this quaint little town anyway?

_My, my Ms. Cameron... confidence looks nice on you._.. the thought only passes through your mind briefly. You don't really want it to linger. Once she exits, you realize the options you have to consider.

1. Go to the conference

2. Follow Cameron to work

3. Scope out her pristine little cottage

4. Drink, Sleep, and watch General Hospital.

Obviously the first was out of the question. You'd be letting down Cuddy, Wilson, your fellows, and all future employees to come. The last option seemed redundant, considering that's what your life consisted up at home. This was _Indiana_, time to spice life up a bit.

Instinctively, you hop over to your temporary night stand and whip out your phone. Your fingers dial a familiar code.

"Shouldn't you be listening to some old, pompous guy talk now?" the warmth of the voice filled the speaker.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping with a nurse?"

"Possibly. What did I do to deserve a phone call from you?"

"Oh, now I'm hurt," you mock, even gesturing a hand to your heart, "I thought you liked me"

"Get on with it, House, I have a consult in 15 minutes." Wilson hums.

"Well, I don't know... It's complicated. Hey, um, I have a question. Have you seen Chase lately?"

"He's in Arizona with Cameron, House. You know that. They've been there for three years."

"Hmm..." you feign thought, hobbling over to the refrigerator. Swinging the door open, you snag the carton of orange juice and commence drinking from the bottle.

"What?"

"Das weuhrd" you sound, letting the juice settle under your tongue, allowing you to speak, you swallow, "Cause I'm at Cameron's house right now.

"No you're not." he grumbles, completely uninterested.

"Um, yes I am. She's at work right now. Seriously, Jimmy, would I lie to you?"

"Yes"

A grumble pours out of your mouth. "Whatever"

"Shut up...you're there? Shut up! What are you doing? Have you slept with her?"

"She's married to an egotistical son of a bitch." you grunt over to her closet.

"You?

"No." You slam a white drawer shut, "I'm misanthropic. He's just a douche. And he's passive aggressive. I am not a fan." Slam.

"Oh no?" Slam.

"House, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm exploring."

"What exactly..."

"Panty raid!"

"Save it for high school." At the touch of your right hand, a final white drawer slides open. Your jaw drops at the rainbow of colors that emerge from the tiny drawer. Reds, greens, blacks, turquoises, whites, pinks, purples, endless colors of skimpy frill stuffed the drawer.

"Jackpot..."

"What? What what what?" Wilson's surges of energy are sent over the line.

"Cameron has the tiniest...how can she....what a...." Your fingers gently dance on the material, playing at it's edges. They smooth the thin fabric between your forefinger and your thumb, creating a slight friction. Your mind wanders into what Cameron would look like, adorned in the skimpy garment, though the thought only stays for a moment. You only let it resonate for that long, it could get dangerous. Wilson's muffled voice comes through the speaker, though his actual words are unclear. Either way, you respond with a quick, "No"

"So you're _not_ worried about Cameron's husband catching you fondle her underwear."

"Umm....nope." He can hint the slight happiness in your voice, though you won't allow him to note it.

"Hey, since Cameron isn't 'Cameron' anymore"

"Oh no, no, no," you interject, "Cameron will always be Cameron, no matter who she marries. She didn't take his last name." You hear Wilson hum in the background in intrigue.

"I guess that's good for you, yeah?" Without an answer, your finger presses firmly on the crimson end button. You can almost hear your friends chuckle from a few states East. Silently, you lace the red thong around your forefinger, and spin it carelessly, humming an old tune to a song you heard on the radio...though the name slipped your mind. Though as one phone call ends, another begins. The obnoxious tinny ring of a virtual minuet screams throughout the house. You shove the fiery undergarment in your back pocket, and hobble around to the nearest night stand, in search for that damn telephone

Without checking the caller I.D., you gruffly answer the phone with a harsh "What?"

"Greg, I'd really appreciate if my house phone was answered with more...warmth. I don't want to scare away the neighbors." Was that supposed to be a joke?

"All apologies," you respond, anything but remorseful.

"Could you tell Al I'm not going to be home until late tonight"

"Yup."

"Listen Greg, in all seriousness, we need to have a chat."

"Yes Core-ster?"

"Allison...is the world to me. I've given her everything. New clothes, a good house, a safe neighborhood, well, you get the picture. I don't know exactly what happened between the two of you before I met Ally, but I want to make sure that it stays as part of the past. I'm a good man, and I was generous enough to let you stay in my house. This is the least you can do after all of my humble generosity."

"Gotcha chief."

"Greg. One false move..."

"Mhm...yeah." Quicker than your previous call, you end this awkward conversation. Pretend it didn't happen, it shouldn't be too hard. Slowly, you make your way over to the couch. Maybe General Hospital wasn't such a horrible idea.

o0o

When that key scrapes along the inside of her door, you know to straighten up, act cavalier. It's not particularly difficult for you, then again, what is? The putrid smell of vomit enters the household as Cameron does. As the stench of the bile fades, you catch of whiff of her strawberry shampoo.

"You smell like puke," apparently you choose to omit the good.

"Oh, thank you Doctor." she's the one to provide the sarcasm this time. You see her eyes dart side to side and around the corners. She could care less about you, she looks for him. She offers you a pathetic half smile, "He's not home is he?" she asks after an eternity of silence.

"Negative. He called once or twice," you begin, thinking of bringing up her husbands insane overprotective behavior.

"And..." she begins. You see the hurt in her eyes, hoping for some sort of explanation.

"I didn't answer," you cover quickly, "It was walking distance. And, you know, bum leg."

You remember the bits and pieces of red you saw this morning, adorned on her skin.

"You're wearing a red bra today..."

She sighs, completely indifferent, you begin to step up your game, "You're not getting laid."

"Only because a stray dog showed up at my doorstep. I'm not so sure if you want to hear me scream from the room next door." she hisses in your ear, full of malice. You chuckle at her defensive mannerism in your head.

"And for the record," she begins, "I have an incredible sex life, thank you"

"Mmm, I'm sure, It's _sooo_ interesting." you joke. Missionary, missionary, missionary. That's all you can really think about. He had a constant stick shoved up his ass! How damn _incredible_ could it be?

"House, that's my _husband_ you're mocking." she bites. Her hands are placed on her hips, every part of her body is secure, though her eyes are soft and weak.

"All you have to do is tell me why"

"It's nothing." she drawls.

"So say it." you stretch out on her couch.

"We got in a fight about kids, he said he wanted 3 boys and a girl. I said I didn't want to make any commitments to something I wasn't sure about. So the next morning he flew out and-"

"Snip snip."

"Happy?"

"Not even close."

"_Riiight_," she sniffles, "When are you ever?" You shrug and stand, passing her by.

Her eyes dart to you, and she latches on to your arm. Her hand slides down your physique, slowly reaching your hip. You feel your body becoming weak, though you refuse to show her your anthropomorphic qualities. You are a god, right?

Her hand sinks into your back pocket, letting it sit in the area just long enough to make it slightly inappropriate. Though, before a witty remark can escape your lips, she slides out a red lacy thong. The one you meant to save and shove in Wilson, Cuddy's, Taub's, Foreman's, Thirteen's and Kutner's face.

_Dammit _you curse in your mind.

"Thanks" she whispers in your ear, before sauntering out. Was she _flirting_?

Sorry Corey, no more promises.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Okay. so PLEASE review if you want the story to continue**

**Thanks!  
**


	5. Cameron 3

**Thank you all so much for the reviews! I really do appreciate it. So, Happy Thanksgiving, and here's another chapter!!**

Your heart jumps at the slam of your bedroom door. You can still feel his smile. It's radiation pulsating in waves over to you.

You can't even remember the last time he smiled.

Whatever, it was probably a hallucination. Don't think too much of it.

Though, how can you help it?

"Cameron!" He bellows, strutting over to your room once more.

"Yes, Oh Demanding One?" you lightly grin, twisting your head sideways to get a better look at his seemingly edible face.

"We need to catch up. I vote a slumber party. So, go run and put on some booty shorts or something. After we can compare cup sizes."

You fall onto the cushioned bed, stretching and rolling your back.

"I don't own booty shorts."

"Liar. You were wearing them this morning."

Seceding, you oblige and slip into a tight spaghetti strap tank top and a pair of shorts. Once your feet lead you into your closet you hear him yell, "I wont object if you forget the bra!"

For a second you actually consider his request, only to snap back to reality so quick you get whip lash. Curse words fly in and out your ears, stinging your brain in between.

You find yourself wishing you were made of iron so you didn't have to feel.

You find yourself wishing you were him.

As you reposition yourself on your bed, you deliberately ignore the fact that he's analyzing every inch of you.

He's memorizing everything.

No, you don't see that at all.

"So, what did you convert to?"

"Hmm?" your ask, snapping yourself out of that annoying daze.

"You've got a mezuzah and a crucifix on your front door. I recall you being an atheist. Or was that just to impress me?"

You chuckle slowly, not sure what the answer to the question is. Were you really that pathetic...are you that pathetic?

"My parents are Jewish. I am atheist. I was before you, and I am now. I try not to be, though. Corey finds so many redeeming factors in believing in religion, and that there's something more." You don't bother to waste your muscles on smiling at false memories. You hate that about him. You hate his passive agressive demeanor. You love everything else, though.

He just hums in response.

You begin to defend yourself at his blatant indifference, "I don't mind it. I like it. The morals and everything."

"I should have known. So do you say the Mourner's Kaddish every day? You would..."

"Only when I think of you" you sneer back, smiling all the while.

"Oh, so you do think of me?"

Shit. Nice job getting yourself out of that one, Allison. You shake your head and shove him.

Before you know it, he's lying next to you. _You could've sworn he was on the other side of the bed._

And your head is on his chest. _You could've sworn it was on the pillow._

And his hand is on your back._ You could've sworn it was clutching his Vicodin bottle_

But it's not intimate at all, no, of course not. Because it's _him._ There's nothing intimate about him.

"I hate him." he grumbles, after several minutes of gazing into the stinging nothingness. You feel his body tense under yours, anxious of what could possibly be said.

"I know you do."

"Good," and he truly does seem satisfied with your dull answer.

Your secrets pound on the inside of your skull and at the edge of your mouth. You want to scream whats convulsing inside of you. It shakes and radiates and never settles, so much that your hand begins to tremor. Your breath hitches slightly, as you open your mouth to create the words that might imprison you. He would mock you until he left-and if you still kept in contact- after he left.

Little Miss Paranoid always was and always will be.

"I'm convinced he's having an affair."

He tenses even more, though his words shrug off any sense of anxiety

"My, my. I always thought of Corey as a wholesome kind of guy."

"He just doesn't call. He's out late. And it's not like I mind, I'm late a lot too. You know? I just am to anal about these things, cause I don't want it to end. I love him. I do. I love him and he just means so much to me. The world. The world and a half! I confronted him about it too. He looked so...so hurt. I never should have done it, it ruined everything. It will ruin everything. I don't know why the hell this would come over me, he's so good. _So_ good to me-"

Then his lips are pressed on yours. And it's just to shut you up, you know that.

Maybe if you just forget about that... but you can't.

Don't be stupid. You spread your lips to object at his blatant disregard for your marriage. Though he takes advantage of your shift.

The second his tongue slips into your mouth, you hear the front door open. You stumble away from each other, and the back of your hand glides across your mouth. Though instantly after, it smacks across his scruffy face. His eyes bulge and he rotates his jaw, hoping to relieve the stinging sensation.

Rapidly, you swallow and swallow, hoping to digest any taste of him. You feel dirty from one stupid kiss, you can't even look at him.

When Corey opens the door to your bedroom, you're still slightly on top of him.

"Hey...hon." he smiles skeptically.

"Hey!" you jump, almost literally. You see him shoot bullets into House with his eyes.

"Greg..." he acknowledges. House smiles, a saccharine filled grin, oozing with sugar.

"You're late! You didn't call." You rush and slur your words, as you climb out of the bed.

"I did. I called earlier to say I'd be in late."

All of a sudden it's you that's burning "Greg" with your eyes.

He _lied_ to you...and that shocks you! You, once again, curse yourself for being so naive.

This entire thing could have been avoided if he had just opened his mouth instead of putting it on top of yours. Now you feel stupid and naked, shivering at your insanity.

"I didn't get the message" you grit through your clenched teeth.

"I'm sure he just forgot..." Corey concludes rather decisively.

You nod, and make your way into the kitchen, announcing that you'll make tea. Though the second you leave, you realize that it's most likely not the best idea to leave House with Corey.

Letting your eyelids shut momentarily, you attempt to clear the mess of a head you call your own.

You wait for the tea to brew, wishing you had other friends that would be up this late. Then you wish you had real friends. Slowly but surely, your breath regulates, and you find enough courage to enter the room-praying it's not a war zone.

"Hey, tea?" you offer

House defers, though Corey takes a mug.

You swear you could see House smirking with amusement as Corey sips his drink. Corey gulps loudly before filling in his wife, "Greg and I were just talking about your job in Jersey and your life there. Your friends, co workers, what have you."

That breath you just regulated speeds up again.

House eyes you, stares you down until you break. But you won't break, you won't let yourself. Instead you impose an even fiercer stare into his skin, hoping that maybe he's phased.

"Oh were you?"

"Yeah," Corey continues, "You were so young. I'm amazed with you Ally, so proud. To get a job like that."

"It wasn't that long ago Cor," you shove lightly with your vocal chords.

"Still, I'm sure you must have been smart. A genius."

Your eyes fall downcast, remembering your true reason for being hired.

Your looks.

The same reason why you got married.

"Though I wouldn't have blamed you for hiring her for that face." he chuckled, "She's aged gracefully since I've known her." Corey informs.

Your jaw drops slightly at his remark. Never in your life have you felt more abused.

"Corey! It was six years ago. I'm not _old_. I'm only 33 years old. I've barely aged. "

"Yeah, but you should see that portrait in our attic," chuckles your useless, idiotic, embarrassing stranger.

You never should have let him read Oscar Wilde.

House cocks an eye brow at him, and then at you. You feel your heart shutting down from the rush of emotions you feel at once. Anger, hatred, embarrassment, hurt, guilt, you could go on.

"Well, Al, I've got to leave early tomorrow. Show Greg to his room and set up his bed. Thanks, babe."

You hate that pet name. Utterly and sincerely despise it.

The door shuts and you guide him to the room he's become all too accustomed to in the past 36 hours.

"Well, you sure picked a winner."

"Oh shut up." you swat his arm, "Go to bed. Or at least drink enough so you can pass out relatively soon."

You're all to irked to look into his eyes, knowing you would end up shoving a knife into your heart if you did.

At least it would relieve the pressure.

You shake the feeling from your head, you know it's not true.

"What the hell happened to you? You'd be dying to know why the hell I kissed-"

"Shut up. Shut up, please. _Please_, House. I can't ruin this. The trip down memory lane was fun and all, but I need to keep my life in tact. You'll be here for 4 more days, and I am happy to cook your meals and engage in small talk. But that's all I can do. That's all I want to do. In spite of what you think, I want this relationship to be healthy, and as undamaged as possible. That doesn't leave room for you," you feel the tears threaten to come, but if you dared to let one spill out, you'd be damned, "I'm done. Go home."

And then he smiles.

Did he really just smile? What the bloody hell?

"Okay." he grins, attempting to still what appears to be a laugh.

You could burst.

Explode.

Combust.

Melt.

Everything all at the same time.

He saunters into your guest room, overflowing with his usual arrogance.

You intrude into his room, and grit with chagrin, "Wipe that smug look off of your face this instance."

"Yes dear," the curmudgeon replies.

You shiver uncontrollably for no apparent reason, before opening your mouth once more.

"I will not be your next Stacy Warner. I will not let you destroy my marriage."

"I kissed you to stop you from having a panic attack." he reasons as you smooth your hair and pull down your shorts.

He turns around and heads to the restroom

"What the hell are you doing?" you sigh

"What do you think?"

You close your eyes in aggravation and amusement.

Then you leave to lie in bed with your husband.


	6. House 3

**A/N:So, thank you all for the reviews. I have noticed some flaws in the consistency of my writing so I will go back and fix it....maybe get a beta. If anyone's up for it? haha. **

**ALSO, I was thinking of maybe doing a short Instant Star/House crossover. I don't even know if that will remotely work out or if it's just a phase. we'll see. Um....Thank you all for the reviews! I happen to know there are way more than 4 readers on this, so PLEASE review. it makes me very happy.**

**P.S. Just a little bonus fact/test thing. If anyone can name who Corey Richards is based off of (if it isn't obvious enough), I will do...something. I don't know. haha. But long story short, that is what Corey is based off of.  
**

**So, anyway, onwards. Thanks again for reading.**

**OH! P.S.S:I have a one-shot out called _You Don't Know Me_, it is of course H/C. Oddly enough (for me) it ends on somewhat of a lighter note. So, please check that out, review and such. It's got an odd syntax ( I was trying something out), so please tell me whether you like it so i can use it for future reference. **

**Okay, NOW we can more on.  
**

Crap with a capital S-H-I-T.

She's on top of you, sprawled out on your chest.

She looks like she has sex hair. Sex hair that only you could give her.

Because, yeah, you're _that _good.

Of course, normally you would ignore antics like that (unless you've paid for it in advanced), but for some reason your damn hand developed a mind of its own. It has the audacity to start rubbing the milky white skin on her back.

She probably equates this to sleeping with you, or marrying you. She'd blow things out of proportion like that.

Especially with you.

This one dumb ass back rub you got yourself into could mean commitment in her eyes. It means passion and intimacy. Cameron would expect something from you. A kiss, or a promise ring, or whatever they taught her in Girl Scouts.

Of course, she wouldn't ask. She had _Corey Richards_, the epitome of the perfect husband.

The epitome of normal. Just the word makes you cringe and pull back at the sour bite or the deeply rooted vowels and consonants.

"I hate him" you mean to say to yourself. Though your vocal chords betray you. You contract at the mishap that's sure to get you kicked right out of Cameron's house.

"I know," the woman in your arms replies, without any hint of anger in her voice.

"Good," you mimic purpose and intention.

After removing a knot and a half in her upper back, she exhales a hefty sigh and divulges her information.

"I'm convinced he's having an affair."

You tense once more, this time out of pure shock. You contemplate if Corey really glittered when he walked, like so many thought he did. You wonder if Cameron's speculations are factual.

"My, my," you muse, "I always thought of Corey as a wholesome kind of guy"

Her huge eyes dare to duel with yours. Hers are painted and glazed with dew, and the watercolored hue of her bright green eyes poke fun at your stone cold blue ones.

"He just doesn't call." Her lips are pinker than usual, _Probably from biting them. She's always nervous_

"He's out late. And it's not like I mind, I'm late a lot too. You know?" Her tone is faster than usual.

"I just am to anal about these things, cause I don't want it to end." _You're kidding me_

"I love him. I do. I love him and he just means so much to me." _Shut up Cameron. _

"The world. The world and a half! I confronted him about it too. He looked so...so hurt. I never should have done it, it ruined everything. It will ruin everything. I don't know why the hell this would come over me, he's so good. _So_ good to me-"

Those body parts of yours don't know how to listen to your brain. These city-states of body parts make up their rules and actions, this one being the worst yet.

You kiss her. Hard.

So hard, that if she had braces, she poke a hole through from her bracket. You notice how your lips are smushed on hers for six seconds without any further motion. Like some Disney kiss.

She opens her lips for some reason you don't care to know. You shove your tongue in her mouth, and her hand grasps your cheek. She briefly glides through the bristles of your scruffy face.

Your tongues fuse together and the front door opens. You hear her gasp in your mouth, as she draws a venomous hand to your recently adored cheek. The poison of her stinging smack reverberates throughout your skin, and festers in your blood.

You stare wide eyed at her abrasiveness, though she won't give you the time of day. She becomes entranced with the lamp, as she gulps down mounds of saliva and air.

Your eyes never leave her.

She's pushing herself off of you when Corey enters.

"Hey...hon," he's got that cheesy car-salesman smile you hate.

"Hey!" Your chest feels cold. She evacuated the area completely.

"Greg..." he seems to warn, piercing you with caution signs.

Cameron slurs some words about him being late, and then you remember your most recent lie to her.

Nice job, sucker, try getting yourself out of this one.

They both talk about mindless stuff you could honestly care less about.

There are only three things that you see.

1. Cameron and Corey's eyes reducing you to nothing more than dust.

2. Cameron shivering and clenching

3. Her ass as she leaves the room.

_Smart move, Cameron_, you think, as a discreet scoff exits from the walls of your mouth. Corey folds his arms comfortable across his chest, and gives you a seemingly pleasant smirk.

"Greg, I thought I made myself clear."

"You sure as hell did, _Dick_." your chest puffs out at your unoriginal nickname. Name calling, rather.

"Oh, now let's not get defensive Dr. House. I guess I'm just a little overprotective when it comes to Ally." He chuckles at his own transparent words, "Do you mind telling me what went on between the two of you while she worked for you?"

"We had hot, raunchy, NC-17 rated sex everywhere. _Everywhere_." For a moment, you see her husband turn a ghostly white, only to realize your dry joke.

"That's funny Greg," sounding anything but amused.

Thank God Cameron walked in the room with a tray full of that tea she went to make.

You can tell by the smell that it's not black walnut and ginger

That's the only kind you can stand.

Of course, Corey juggles a hot mug in his hands, while you reject the offer.

"Greg and I were just talking about your job in Jersey and your life there. Your friends, co workers, what have you." Corey informs incorrectly. (And she thought you were the liar!)

You eye her to see her response, analyze her reactions, see that vein on her neck pulse rhythmically.

"Oh were you?" she chirps, engaging in your staring contest

"Yeah. You were so young. I'm amazed with you Ally, so proud. To get a job like that."

You understand his connotations, most likely better than she does.

He thinks she's hot, that she only got this whole "doctor" gig, because she has a perfectly proportioned body. While there may be some truth to that, you know that he is incapable of seeing her intellect.

She murmurs some defense of her age, how it wasn't that long ago.

They continue talking, and your mind drifts to your timeline. Could it really have been "not that long ago"?

It seemed like decades since he'd seen Chase or Cameron.

Three years was nothing. It's not even a whole presidency, hardly a time for a milestone to occur. There's no time for anything in three years.

It was rapid and quick. The days, weeks, and months were endless and tiring. Though, the years zoom by.

"You should see that portrait in our attic" Corey grins, motioning with his thumb upstairs. You realize that he's talking to you...and making an Oscar Wilde reference.

You wonder who let him read Oscar Wilde.

You raise a single eyebrow at Corey (who doesn't seem to catch the drift), and then at Cameron (who, quite obviously, does).

"Well, Al, I've got to leave early tomorrow. Show Greg to his room and set up his bed. Thanks, babe."

You cringe at the pet name he gives her. "Babe?" Really? It makes him sound like a potential pedophile.

She leads you to your room, as ordered. She ensures that you notice her heavy eye rolls.

"Well, you sure picked a winner," you probe, expecting her to discuss her inner feelings of love and lust towards you.

Not that you want that.

"Oh, shut up" she growls, smacking your bicep. "Go to bed. Or at least drink enough so you can pass out relatively soon.

"What the hell happened to you? You'd be dying to know why the hell I kissed-" she cuts you off with harsh unforgiving words. Though they were the ones you expected.

"Shut up. Shut up, please. _Please_, House. I can't ruin this. The trip down memory lane was fun and all, but I need to keep my life in tact. You'll be here for 4 more days, and I am happy to cook your meals and engage in small talk. But that's all I can do. That's all I want to do. In spite of what you think, I want this relationship to be healthy, and as undamaged as possible. That doesn't leave room for you, I'm done. Go home."

She still likes you.

And you still got it.

"Okay," you smile complacently, and enter fully into _your_ room. She follows, fuming.

Literally, you can see the steam coming out of her ears.

"Wipe that smug look off your face this instant"

For a second you think she's cute when she's mad. Then you realize who your dealing with.

The thought it shoved into a back corner of your brain.

"Yes dear" you sing in compliance.

"I will not be your next Stacy Warner," Ouch. You decide not to hear the rest of that sentence.

"I kissed you to stop you from having a panic attack," you reason with the world, justifying your rash actions.

She pulls down the shorts you told her to put on in modesty. Though she reveals a sliver of her stomach. You see her legs, leading up to her pelvic bone, to her waist, ribs, breasts collar bone, neck, all a continuous line leading upwards.

_Shit_, you think, and you limp awkwardly to the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Oh god, maybe she is that young.

"What do you think." You see her nose crinkle out of the corner of your eye. Though the mere hint of naivety fades away, and is replaced with a tiny smile. Maybe even a slightly mischievous look.

She leaves to sleep with her husband.

When you wake up you'll call Wilson, tell him tonights events.

You'll talk to your new ducklings about their latest case.

You'll say something snide about Cuddy's boobs.

You'll consider making some of that tea you've been recently craving.

Maybe you'll even kiss Cameron again.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**A/N: Well, R&R please! Check out my new one-shot, tell me what you think, and yeah! Thanks for reading this far**


	7. Cameron 4

**A/N:I am so sorry it took so long. (Special apology to kizzy7-sorry I didn't wait. I get....antsy? haha) Anyway,I really hope you all like this chapter. And...well, that's it! Oh, also, I have a semi-newish one-shot called Pomegranate. Read it if you'd like! I really like it. Generally, I find myself posting one-shots in between chapters. Oh well. **

**Thanks**

**-Jen**

**Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of it's characters, Indiana by John McLaughlin, or any other familiar brand names etc.  
**

It's nights like these you wish you were alone.

Nights when your body flip flops around the king sized bed, aching to find comfort in some nook and cranny of the mattress.

Your body freezes in place, hands glued to your side, eyes clamped shut, your toes are even pointed. The twang of pain in the small of your back pulses through your hips now. Your tin body creeks, as you slightly shift to find a new position.

Corey has to be up early in the morning, and you know how he needs his sleep. Many painstakingly long nights in the E.R. taught you how to live without sleep.

The sharp stabbing feeling in your back beats rhythmically. You consider lurking over to House's room to steal a Vicodin. Your rusted bones creak when you hoist yourself into a proper sitting position. Gingerly, you let your legs lead you out of your bedroom. You tip toe, on your baby ballerina feet, to the threshold of your past.

Cold against cold, your cheek rests along on the whitewashed wooden door, and satellite styled ears search for signs of alien life forms. Your hand reaches for the bronze colored doorknob, but reaches an abrupt halt. The sound of a pen scratching on a pocket sized notebook languidly surges into your stream of hearing.

It seems impossible to ignore the pounding of your heart against the thin layer of skin that covers your chest. A thousand and one doubts rush through your mind.

Why should you walk right into the a death trap of humiliation?

Why should you subject yourself to taunting and teasing?

You open the door, praying that the hibernating grizzly bear truly is in a deep sleep.

The lights are out. An errant Holiday Inn pen and pad of paper are placed strategically on the night stand. Still, House's blue eyes are out of sight. Only his slightly wrinkled lids face diagonally towards you. You chuckle at your sudden awareness. Your new-found (and temporary) sustenance is held captive in the translucent orange bottle, and sealed with a child proof cap.

You wonder how House opens it.

With thumb and pointer finger in a ready position, you pick up the bottle with your makeshift chopsticks.

The familiar calloused hands encircle your wrist, causing the sole ailment to your pain to clatter on the floor.

"Oh!" you cry like Dorothy from Oz. Quickly, your brain files through ways to exculpate yourself.

"Boo," he states plainly, still clutching your wrist so tight that the tips of your fingers become a powdered white. With a free hand, he motions for you to pick up his medicine. Bending down at the waist, you fumble with his pills when he lets go of your wrist.

As you reach for the cap, he swats your hand. "No touchy," he reprimands, before swallowing one.

"How did you..." you begin, questioning your own stealth. You look at your appearance, and cringe. Suddenly, you feel tawdry in his presence.

"Can you say maraca?" he patronizes, shaking the bottle side to side creating his own music, "Whaddya say? A one way trip to Meh-Hee-Coh, kid? We sure as hell could make a living on the streets. Tourists love this."

"I didn't even..." He shakes the bottle fiercely in your face to freeze your incoherent words.

Your eyebrows knit in desperation and you gesture to the pain in your lower back. Begrudgingly, he hands you one. The feeling of a whole pill in your throat lingers, as you castigate yourself for not finding a glass of water. Dry swallowing pills took practice and sheer will.

"Thanks" you grit out, with barely a whisper.

"So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" He nonchalantly glides, propping himself up against the over fluffed pillows.

"You're the only one with a free pass for painkillers." you remind him, glancing evasively at his leg.

"Oh, so it wasn't for my hot bod?" he smirks with a drowsy flip of the hair You shake your head, with a toothy grin.

"Good. I mean, with jailbait like you..." he clicks his tongue cautiously at the end of his thought.

His forget-me-not eyes dust you with invisible pollen, as they scan down your body. Up, down, and back up again.

He's x-raying you. So the only words that you can fathom to save yourself are:

"Goodnight," you utter with a crackled breath.

"You're leaving?"

"It's three in the morning. I've got to be up early for work, and I'm tired"

"So stay here. Corey seems like he'd be a monster if he's woken up too soon"

"He a deep sleeper."

"It's probably the only thing deep about him. Really Cameron, he's such a tool. What the hell would make you marry him?"

You warn him with your eyes. Then your hands, as they ease down his arms, soothingly relaxing his tensed muscles. He calms down physically, though his words still bite with the same

rigid tone.

"Goodnight." you repeat from before, with a tone mixed with warm honey and vanilla. You saunter towards the doorframe, only to be tasered by his harsh, clamorous voice.

"No. Don't go." he demands like the child he is. He would never beg you to stay, never ask you to comfort him. Begging and comforting are menial tendencies that can only subject oneself to a lower status.

You slink towards him, and grace him with your presence. His eyes pour into yours, telling you a thousand truths in a thousand different languages- none of them your own.

There is one thing you understand, though.

"You like me," you realize

"I tolerate you, there's a difference. Webster would agree with me."

"You have a crush on me."

"A crush? Reason numero uno why 'Cameron' sounds oddly like 'jail bait'." he attempts to terminate any idea of a possible future between the two of you.

You hold your hands above your chest in defense.

"House. I'm not the one pining, remember" you wave your empty ring finger at him.

"Someone's missing a ring."

"It's by my bed."

"Yeah, but you didn't bring it in _my_ room. You dismantled your shield. You're the one that wants me to throw you onto the bed and have me deflower you."

You chuckle at his blunt response, though you correct his mistake.

"I'm not a virgin, House, far from it." You think you see his muscles clench like yours do. It's possible you saw a lump of his terror slide down his throat.

"Oh, that's right, you've been wedded and bedded two times too many."

Waves of embarrassment adorned with whitecaps of anger flush over you. You erase the thin lines of space between the two of you, and grunt in his ear, "Don't"

"What? Marriage is for the weak." he divulges his analysis on even more aspects of your life.

"Why? Giving yourself to someone to make a lifetime of commitment? That's hard work. It's grueling and difficult, but the reward is... indescribable."

"Oh please. This isn't a after school special or a Hallmark card. Marriage makes people unselfish. Unselfish people are boring."

'And yet, you still want me here." You cross your arms and tap your fingers on your skin, playing a song that only the two of you know.

That common, complex tango the two of you engage in every time your eyes meet.

"Fine, go. _Whatever_." He brushes you off, after a serious of awkward looks. You should have known better than to expect a clear answer from him. You should have known he'd waffle around the question, like the inner politician he was. Nothing could destroy the image he set up for himself.

"Goodnight," You say for the third and final time, pivoting towards the dark hallway.

Towards your cluttered bed, filled with a man who wanted nothing more than to showcase you like the trophy wife you were.

Towards your new life that had grown bitter and old.

For a moment you want to pivot right back around again and steal another Vicodin, and take a swig of his drink.

"Goodnight." he responds once you reach the border lines of his world and yours.

Losing inhibitions, you _ronde de jambe_ around, facing his slightly illuminated head. You walk quickly, not leaving any time to change your mind. You open Pandora's Box and plant a full mouthed kiss on his lips, pressing hard against his teeth.

_He_ is the one to purse his lips and complete the action.

He _is_ the one to open his mouth and start anew.

He is _the_ one to slide his tongue on top of yours.

He is the _one_ to elicit a small grunt when you break away.

You smile, and use the tip of your tongue to erase any trace of him from your lips.

"You like me," you inform with a half opened mouth.

Nodding in conformation, you exit and sleep in bed with your husband.

His Holiday Inn pen makes more scratch marks on the note pad.


	8. House 4

**A/N: As you can probably tell, I've changed my PenName to "PaintRedRoses". I won't make any more changes to the name. Promise. The last one was just killing me. I couldn't stand it. Okay, well, enough ranting. Anyway, just to talk/type and waste time, I wrote a kind of House/Cuddy thing. But I don't think it could be classified as such. I mean, it obviously isn't about how amazing they are together and their "sexual tension"-we get enough of that on TV. Also, sorry it took so long. I'm sure you're all sick of hearing that. On with the House-tastic-ness. **

Sometimes you scare yourself.

It's the little things that scare you, though.

The fact that you're taking notes about Cameron's love life, just so you can remember to tell Wilson. It's not creepy. It's not.

And it's not like you begged her to stay with you, or read you bed time stories, or tuck you in.

You were just surprised that she was the one leaving you.

With her hand pressed on the cream nightstand she whispered the first goodnight.

Now you know your lips are no good, as they almost stammer "You're leaving?"

"It's three in the morning. I've got to be up early for work, and I'm tired", she explains, flailing her arms about. Probably trying to defer you from breaking past that god-awful shield that Corey had forced her to put up.

"So stay here ," Fuck. What are you saying? "Corey seems like he'd be a monster if he's woken up too soon."

"He's a deep sleeper." Damn, Corey Richards had been in your life for a mere 48 hours, and he had already become the bane of your existence.

"It's probably the only thing deep about him. Really Cameron, he's such a tool. What the hell would make you marry him?" Your elbows are propping you up on her mattress that's a bit too soft for your taste. Your ocean blue eyes glaze condescendingly over her. With a fury, hers meet yours. A chuckle almost erupts from your mouth when you see her pupils start to back away from yours.

She must hate her hands right now, because they are shooting all of their adoration into your veins. She soothingly massages your forearms and your biceps, attempting to calm you down.

You think it's cause she needs to get her sexual desire out in a passive aggressive way.

Maybe you dozed off, or fell down the rabbit hole of ecstasy, because now she's standing in the doorframe.

"Goodnight"

"No. Don't go." You might as well kick your legs and throw a tantrum.

Oddly, you know you sound insanely ridiculous. Whatever it takes to piss her off, you suppose.

Your eyes pierce hers, pupil against pupil. She saunters toward you, reading the fine print in your skin.

In the whites of your eyes.

In the blue of your veins.

In the pink of your lips.

In the-

"You like me."

Did Cameron just make....a _statement_. Not ask for approval for such a statement.

"I tolerate you. There's a difference, Webster would agree with me."

"You have a crush on me." Your eyebrows knit in disgust.

"A crush? Reason numero uno why 'Cameron' sounds oddly like 'jail bait'."

Your sanity lessens as she holds her arms up in defense. That small sliver of perfect skin shown for you.

Just for you.

You could place your lips just there. In the center.

She could arch her back, grunt your name.

You see her lips form words that look like accusations, but all you hear in your head is _House...House...House...Greg....House..._

God, she's gorgeous.

She's too good

She's...empty handed

"Someone's missing a ring."

"It's by my bed."

"Yeah, but you didn't bring it in _my_ room. You dismantled your shield. You're the one that wants me to throw you onto the bed and have me deflower you."

Your lips betray you once again, once the words zoom out of your mouth. All of the images begin to flow back.

She chuckles at your proposition.

Chuckles!

"I'm not a virgin, House, far from it." You think you feel your muscles clench like hers do.

Damn her to hell. Damn it.

"Oh, that's right, you've been wedded and bedded two times too many." She clenches tightly at this. Her teeth grinding furiously on top of one another.

"Don't" she growls in your ear, but you don't receive the warning.

Her breasts are pressed against your arm.

"What? Marriage is for the weak," you muse

"Why? Giving yourself to someone to make a lifetime of commitment? That's hard work. It's grueling and difficult, but the reward is... indescribable."

"Oh please. This isn't a after school special or a Hallmark card. Marriage makes people unselfish. Unselfish people are boring." Yes...more Oscar Wilde theories would shut her up.

All you want is to be alone, right?

It's what you've always wanted.

'And yet, you still want me here." She plays a song that you wrote for her with her fingertips on her bicep. You're not even sure she's aware of what that song means.

You started it in junior high.

"Fine. Go. _Whatever"_

That's right, defer. Just like you always do.

"Goodnight," she whispers, reverting back to the old Cameron you knew. The Cameron who didn't need to decide between a hyphen for her last name or not. The Cameron who didn't even need a second last name. The Cameron that was all yours, (and sometimes Chases-but it was close enough).

She turns away.

Away to a cluttered bed, filled with a man who wanted nothing more than to showcase her like the trophy wife he thought she was.

Away to her new life that had grown bitter and old.

She was better than that. She _is _better than that.

You at least owe her a-

"Goodnight."

She's stampeding towards you.

A bull in a china shop.

Is it possible for her to be the bull _and _the china?

You don't find the time to contemplate with her lips glazing of yours, and finally pursing together to complete a kiss.

You open your lips and probe her further, pushing her deeper into your complex emotional state.

With your tongue on hers, she dares to pull away.

"You like me." She whispers, nodding her head. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo, Cammy Bear.

Oh, if she knew.

If _you_ knew.

She leaves.

She leaves to go to bed.

She leaves to go to bed with her husband.

Forcing a chuckle out, you turn over your Holiday Inn pad of paper, and finger the pen.

You annotate the paper, writing down that _she is the one_ that initiated the kiss.

You tell the little voice in your head to shut up, as it sings nursery rhymes of morals in your ear.

The one that's worst of all is the one that won't go away. You know what it's saying:

Sometimes she scares you

**A/N: So i noticed one confusing thing. the "song she's playing on her bicep", the "one he started in jr high": that's in reference to the song from Half-Wit. Part of me always thought it was for Cameron. But, hey, that's just me. **


	9. Cameron 5

**I apologize sincerely for the briefness of this chapter...and how long it took me to finally get it done**. **I hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own House, Indiana by John McLaughlin, Hamlet, Henry VI, or King Lear by Shakespeare  
**

The morning sun beckons you to slink out of bed, though the sleep tugging at your eyes begs to differ. Never the less you slump out of your bed and into the bathroom (down the hall and to the right).

Your synthetic-sex-hair topples over your head as a byproduct of your sleepless night. A trembling, and near-numb hand grasps a Sonicare toothbrush, and the tell tale humming begins in your mouth.

"Do you read Shakespeare?" a rusty voice asks you.

A yelp erupts from your mouth, along with a stream of foamy Crest the dribbles to your chin. Yanking the toothbrush out of your mouth, you use your buzzing make-shift life saber as protection. Creeping around the bathroom, you inspect for intruders of some sort.

You whip the shower curtain to the left.

"Peek-a-boo," a less than decent House grins, splashing a handful of bathwater on her face.

Your hand is tugging on the mustard colored shower curtain for support. All you can do is stare and rub the fabric between your fingers tightly. Your jaw becomes slightly unhinged, and your tongue decides to ice skate over your teeth.

"You gonna close that?" he continues.

You whip the curtain from one side to another and begin to wipe the crusting toothpaste off of your face.

"Thank you." you scoff, grunting at your naivety "Shit. I need to call Corey. His parents are coming into town. I'm sorry. I'll leave you to...yourself and-.

"Do you read Shakespeare?" he proposes again behind his curtain.

Your head bobs up and down in response and you murmur a "yes."His silence motivates you to further elaborate.

"It was all I read in high school."

"I'll make you a deal... I will ask you 5 questions. You get them right, the curtain stays closed and you carry on to call Corey. I get them right, the curtain stays closed...and you come in."

"Ha," you guffaw with a tablespoon of pine green mouthwash behind your lips.

"I'll take that as a yes. What was his longest play?"

Without a hesitation you grin, "Hamlet."

He swishes in his bathtub (possibly concomfortably).

Almost naturally, like petals on a rose, your clothes drop to the floor. You make a pilgrimage to your towel rack, where your prized turquoise rose hangs.

"A word for 'infidelity of a wife' in-"

"Cuckoldry. Challenge me House...I thought you were smarter than this."

You hope he can hear your grin.

"Numero tres," he plays off, you hear him submerge himself further into the water," What was his first historical play"

"Henry VI"

"Four. He co-wrote 'Two Noble Kinsmen' with...?"

"John Fletcher. One left House...see if you can stump me." You slip on your robe ever so leisurely

He chuckles, it's a frightening sound really. You can't take the pressure of a silly game.

You need to pass with flying colors.

"How much do you love me?" you can hear the triumph in his voice.

"What?"

"What can you say to make me believe you love me more than others do."

Your bottom lip quivers, enough to make you feel like a scraped up toddler.

"N-nothing." you stutter with realization.

"Hmm? 'Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again'" he smirks, tugging the wall away, so he can see your pasty face.

With frozen strength you find a way to spit out words that are daggars in your heart.

"'Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth'"

Dreadful silence reverberates throughout the room, bouncing off of the walls, and into your ears.

"You pass...With _King Lear_"

It's your turn to chuckle, with a mockery of fury, you thrust the curtain closed.

"I'm need to go call Corey. We're going to visit his parents-"

"You don't need to call him. You need to come in. Here."

"Ugh, shut up House," you grin, feeling more comfortable around him than ever, "Those were not the terms. At least not on my part."

Quickly, you bend down to retrieve a nostalgic rubber duck and toss it into his domain. Though, you should've known his mastery of capture. He encircles your wrist and tugs you into the tub.

You're on top of him, in a soaked bathrobe and drenched hair.

He's under you, in...nothing.

You're an idiot.

He's a mastermind.

"House! This was not the deal!"you shriek.

"You didn't _need_ to call Corey. Why do you _need_ to...up and run away"

"'Reason! Not the need!'"

"Cute." he responds.

Stumbling out of the bathtub, you search for a reason not to smile.

You can't even come close to finding one.

Though you swing the door open, and your life is shot to hell.

Your own mortality is right there, right about to punch you in the fucking teeth or something.

You grimace before limping towards your personalized Grim Reaper (being sure to leave a trail of House's Holy Water behind you"

And in perfect demonic harmony, you hear:

"Allison! Hello Dear."


	10. House 5

**A/N: Sorry it took so long, but I'm sure you're all sick of the excuse. It's kind of old. haha SPOILERS for the last episode at the bottom.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, blah blah blah.  
**

You're a demon and a mastermind.

She's a sucker.

Water with remnants of you smooths her matted and ratted hair. Her loose night shirt and opened bathrobe tickle your chest.

Still, only Allison Cameron would be conscious of your leg at a time like this. With her arms in an attempted plank, she maneuvers herself around your injury.

She's soaking. She's shrieking.

"House!" you love it when she screams your name, "This was not part of the deal!"

"You didn't _need_ to call Corey. Why do you _need_ to...up and run away?"

But that was her...she was always running away lately.

From this situation at this moment she was sprinting.

Face it, she was always running away from you. Even when you couldn't run anymore, she went full speed ahead.

Roles reversed.

Ha. You lose.

"Reason, not the need!" she retorts, using her knowledge against you.

Damn King Lear.

"Cute," you find yourself snipping. That's all you can muster.

Stumbling out of the bathtub, you chuckle. She's a drunken scarecrow.

Nearly slamming the door behind her, you find yourself twitching slightly in response.

There she goes again, though the splish splash of her footsteps comes to an abrupt halt.

"Allison! Hello dear."

Those voices scare you shitless, at first. They sound like Medea's children or something. Creepy, creepy.

You lopsidedly swing yourself out, using that mustard colored curtain as an anchor. Wrap the towel that was meant for Cameron around your waist.

You creak the door open slightly, getting a snapshot at the scene.

"Hello Jay... Jude."

"Oh, honey, you're all wet! Maybe we should go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up." The older woman, who resembles sweeter, kinder Bonnie Hunt, proposed.

"No!" She almost shouts, "Um, I..."

You swing the door open, making your grand enterance at the opportune moment.

"Hey, Al" you nod, attempting to gavot out of the bathroom.

Not a smooth idea in your situation.

The distressed lady raises both eyebrows at you. _Al?_ Even _you_ are surprised at your choice of words.

"Allison? Who is this?" It's the man that speaks now, bellowing in concern.

"This..." she lets out a dramatic chuckle, "is Greg House. One of my former colleagues. A fantastic diagnostition. He comes from New Jersey's Princton Plains-"

The elder man grabs her wrist firmly, and you cring at him touching her. You watch her eye him up and down.

He's a little chubby-most likely a few too many beers in his time. His coiffed head of golden gray heair is smoothed to perfection in a barely noticable combover. His ordinary chocolate eyes attempt to make an impression on hers.

Everyone knows that when you mix brown and green, all you get is muddy grass.

Blue and green, now...that is a different-

"Allison Richards. What is he doing here?"

Gotcha! And you thought she'd always be little Miss Allison Cameron. At least...that's what she told you two days ago.

"Dr. House is here on business, Jay. As an old...mentor of mine, I felt that it was the least I could do. Offer my home."

The bitch speaks:

"And where will _we_ be staying for the time being, Allison? I'm shocked that you forgot we-"

She cradles her head in her hands.

You cringe every time they say her name.

It's manipulative and conniving.

"I didn't forget! Dr. House's visit was so unexpected, and I assumed he would..."

She sighs. You nod and begin to limp away.

"Allison?"

"Dr. House will be staying in Corey's room with me. You two are more than welcome to the guest room."

"Where's our son?"

"Corey had to go on business. He left a note this morning, I just found out. He'll be back in three days, just as you both and Dr. House are leaving. I hope it's okay. Do mind-"

You freeze. For a second you feel remorseful. Though it fades.

The joy of corrupting these next three days would be devilishly fun.

Manipulation is your strongest suit.

The couple nods their heads simultaneously and begin to depart to the living room.

"Allison," the chirp of Jude resounds in both your ears, "You might want to change. With Dr. House's appearance and yours combined, well. You never know what might be deduced." With a pursed smile and a blink, she turns on her heel.

You hobble back to Cameron, contorting your lips downward.

"Oooh, Cam-won, The wady is scawey."

She smacks your chest and gives a full toothed smile.

"Kinky?"

"Seriously, House. No bullshit, please. Not here. I'm not gonna lie, I am so scared of these people. Please."

"So, what? Do I have to move my stuff not?"

"Um, yes. Right now."

She chases you down the hall, tailgating you-especially sure to hoist up your falling towel.

Clumps of wrinkled shirts are tossed into his poor excuse for a suitcase.

"Hey! What if I wanted those folded neatly." You whine, clutching on to your towel tighter.

"Oh, please." she groans lightheartedly, chucking a Rolling Stones tee and jeans at your head. With feigned ease, you capture the clothes.

"Cameron, how am I supposed to feel comfortable changing around-"

"I'll turn around."

She's snappy and short.

She's unlike herself-almost meaner. It's odd.

Cameron has been as annoying as hell, but mean-never.

"You told me you kept Cameron."

Damn your thoughts, she'll think you've gone soft.

"What?" she spins around, and you think you see her jaw fall slightly lower than before at your half-dressed body.

"I'm guessing that the wonderful pair of...things are Corey's parents"

"Right..."

"They called you Allison _Richards_, not Allison _Cameron_. Liar, liar pants on fire."

"Not to you!"

"What?"

"House, come on. You know I wouldn't lie to you. I told Jay and Jude that because I knew they'd flip. Just, don't say anything. Corey hasn't."

"Oooh, I know who to emulate now."

"House. Promise you'll be good."

She clutches your hand.

You smirk.

"How long have you known me?"

**A/N: Okay, SPOILERS beginning now:**

**I'm really really sad. Seriously, Monday's episode (good as it was) was majorly disappointing for us House/Cameron fans. **

**RIP House/Cameron FOR NOW. I still have hope. House/Cuddy can't go on forever...right? And an engagement is not the same as marriage. It's all about a positive attitude. **

**Still, I'm gonna have to live off of fanfiction for now...  
**


	11. Cameron 6

**Author's note: Hey fabulous readers, thank you so much for sticking with me for this long. Anyway, this story/ fic-ma-bab will be coming to an end relatively soon. in the next 3-4 chapters, if all goes as planned in my head. But, hey, you never know. Things could change.I have a baby rant at the end of this too.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own diddly-squat  
**

Your bed was built for two.

The perfect bed for a couple-at least that's what the sales man from Sit and Sleep promoted.

It seems unfair that you're in there alone. This is not what you paid for!

So, you had to have House sleep in your bed with you.

Well, he's not _sleeping_ with you, but sleeping by you.

To keep you warm. Maybe if he were a normal human being, he'd play footsie with you, he'd encircle your stomach, he'd...care.

But he's not normal.

That's probably in your best interest.

He's a plank, laying flat on the left hand side, in Corey's imprints of the mattress. Though, Corey's marks grow less defined, and evolve into an unclear blur of Gregory House and Corey Richards.

It's odd.

House had spent solely a mere night in the mold, and the This would be his second night. Maybe...a second chance?

No, not for you. Not for the two of you.

There were no second chances with you two.

"Ready for bed?" you ask.

He grunts and slides in, keeping his distance. It's certainly better that way.

You might as well draw a dirt line in between the two of you. That could work?

"Um...I'm really sorry about Jay and Jude. Really, I didn't mean for this to happen. I honestly didn't expect them to come with Corey...just up and leaving. Gone. But, here they are."

He looks you in the eyes, hints of adoration play at the crinkles in his face. Granted, he's not singing "Sunshine!" , but there's something.

Something that you knew was always there.

Something that you never saw there.

"You hate them"

"No!"

"I can get them to leave, if ya know what I mean." He responds with an exaggerated wink, and wide opened mouth.

"House."

"How long have you been married to Corey?"

The warmth freezes over.

You should have been prepared for this unannounced attack.

He was too...

No.

He was the same. He emits arrogance, angst, maybe even jealousy.

Not for you, though, of course not. This emotion is reserved for everything he will not allow himself to have.

It's that generic

With a composed sigh, you reply, "Almost three months. But I've known him my whole life. We dated in high school, college for a while...you know? He's who my parents wanted me to marry. Not-"

"Your other husband." he finishes your sentence. Nothing endearing about the end of that one.

Another awkward silence commences, the ringing of his thoughts taunt the two of them.

"Good ni-"

"How long have you lived here? In _Indiana_", his question bubbles with disgust, you think he punishes himself for daring to ask.

"Five months," your reply is brisk, void of any emotion. You slip under the covers, hiding yourself from him.

"One month to go. Where's your next stop, and who's your next boy toy?"

"What?"

"Your Six-Month-Moving-Spree. You've got to keep up with your tradition."

"House, shut up. I was...unstable. I'm okay now."

"You can't prove your stability through three months, Cameron. What makes you think that having a husband grants you any more stability in your life? If anything, you're an even bigger mess than you were when you left the first time. For Arizona. With Chase."

"Arizona was a long time ago. Chase was a long time ago. Get over it."

Attachment is over rated.

"I'm happy now," you finish with a sickeningly sweet tone.

"You were happy with me."

"That was an even longer time ago. Let it go. I'm staying in Indiana. I'm staying with Corey- a man who loves me. I love it here."

"Love _what?_ The fact that there isn't another house for twenty miles? The fact that you are doing a shit job, that you know you're better than?"

You remain immobile, listening to the steadiness of your own breath. The rhythmical ins and outs of oxygen, passing through your lungs. You ignore the musky scent that is truly and only him. Blood doesn't dare to reach the tips of your fingers that embrace the pillow you're clutching. This numbness is almost comforting.

"You were happy with me," he repeats, most likely for effect. He always used rhetoric against you.

"Then tell me, House, why did I leave?"

Now, it is his turn to hide in shame...or something like shame.

Though, the glint of remorse or regret in his eye disappears in an instant.

"You left because Chase did."

...

With a scoff you sputter out, "Seriously?"

"Well, either that, or you just can't control that little feeling in your hoo-hoo whenever I come around"

Eye rolls and growls are flying all over the place.

You hurl a limp pillow at his head, praying for it to knock him unconscious.

"But, really Cameron. This little school girl crush you have on me. You're gonna need to let it go."

"Come on. You're the one who is following me around like a lost puppy dog. My God, House. Take someone else, make someone else's life a living hell. I need you to let me live in peace."

Abruptly, the man's tall figure sits erect. An astonished look of disgust settles into the lines on his face. The pools of clear blue judge you, each of your lies darkening the purity of his eyes.

"Your life has only become exponentially more exciting since I showed up. If I didn't come when I did you'd...you'd wear a cross around your neck. You'd cut up a Virginia ham, and put on a freaking Betty Crocker apron. Everything I had ever done would be a waste. Everything I ever made you would be-"

Almost instantly, you nearly collapse out of your bed, void of any grace. Once, on your two feet, you cut his languid sentences off with your own curt words of intolerance.

"Are you fucking joking? You _created_ me? Don't you dare give me that. You didn't do anything except destroy what ever I had my heart set on. With Chase... with my morals, being on your team, being with you! It's all a waste and a joke. God, I was such an _idiot_. I am such a freaking idiot! I thought you changed or something. Something naive and stupid. I can't believe I ever..."

Your voice leaves you with only your thoughts swirling around in your head. The rapid movement is enough to induce a head ache that not enough Extra Strength Tylenol could cure. Feeling almost meek, you crawl into bed, sitting fully straight, flaunting your posture in front of your foil.

"You love me."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I don't _care_ about you."

"Liar."

You clutch the back of his neck and thrust him towards your face. With an awkward bump of the mouth, you cover your mouth over his. With each passing second, you pull him closer.

You press harder.

He thrusts his tongue forward between your lips, groaning into your mouth.

You dare to bite his lip and suck at the sore mark to ease the pain.

Your name almost escapes his lips before you pull away.

Breathlessly, you pant, "See. I hate you."

You hear a throat clear that is neither yours nor his. Your neck turns your head towards the door, though your heart and brain beg you to stop. They plead violently for you to stay in this moment of hatred.

"Allison." the devilish voices chime together in sheer horror, "Dr. House is here for business?"

You look up, only to see your life flash before your eyes.

This can't be happening.

You hate him.

This is your punishment?

"Hi _hon_. I'm home."

So, the flood gates open.

**Ok: Commense Rant**

**House/Cuddy sleeping together.... I was not a fan of that. I mean, obviously they're not my favorite, but I felt it was so unnatural, you know. It was just kind of forced after a seemingly impossible overnight detox. Regardless, Anne Dudek's performance was...incredible. Just fabulous. Words can't even describe how moved I was by her in the past two episodes. Especially how she reflected House. I forget the episode title, but it was for Chase's bachelor party. When he realized that he subconsciously tried to kill Chase and attempted to avoid Amber. The look in her eyes, and the silent connection... it was so moving. For me, I saw him realize what he dislikes about himself. **

**Anyway, I'm super analytical, and I adore to look into things. So, i'll probably rant a lot, and have it not make sense to anyone except me. haha. So thank you all for dealing with it....or just skipping to the end. Whatever works for you all. **

**Read and review please! Thank you  
**


	12. House 6

**Authors Note: Okay, Sorry to say, but the updates will become less and less frequent because-sadly- my computer crashed. Sad times, I know. Also, this chapter is rather short...So, all apologies. There are actually a total of 4 chapters after this one, so I'm hoping to finish it soon. Thanks for your patience  
**

**Disclaimer: Nothing, nada, zilch.**

She hates you, and you love nothing more than that feeling.

The words almost escape your lips, "Hate me more," you ache to kiss her again. Just to taunt her.

The desire to act causes sloshes around in your stomach. But that damn, pretentious throat clearing. You would have preferred a Jerry-Springer-style reunion to this one.

"Allison? Dr. House is here for business?" You sit and wait for their heads to slowly rotate a full 360 degrees.

Then, sarcasm you hear oozing out of that man's lips, dancing at the tip of his tongue, disgusts you.

It is sheer malice to the core.

"Hi _hon_. I'm home." How dare he call this a home? There is nothing warm about it.

"Corey! Jesus, you scared me. I-"

There is a slight sardonic bounce to his strut. That taunting walk that torments Cameron- you can almost see her heart beating through her chest. It is only now that she realizes how close you two are, how her lips vibrate subtly, and how truly hot and bothered she is.

"Dr. House. Give us a minute," Corey passive aggressively orders. His dear old Mommy and Daddy stand at the doorway, arms folded, teeth clenched, glare set.

"Well Mr. Richards, I do believe that this is my room for the time being. My leg, well, it's a little sore from today's...activities. If ya know what I mean." You jest with an exaggerated wink.

You never noticed how both Cameron and Corey clench. Congratulations to you, you slowly pour the vinegar into their baking soda. Chuckles nearly escape from your lips as you watch them simultaneously explode.

"Greg. Please." It is anything but a request.

Damn you and your games. You always have to have the last laugh, don't you?

So, that's what you do. You sit there and begin to chuckle, until those morph into mad guffaws.

"HOUSE." Cameron shrieks, utterly mortified. It's all your fault.

You see her clutching onto that cardboard cutout of a husband she's got. Her hair is strewn every which way across her face, teasing you while it clings to her lips. With every fiber of your being, you attempt to make her look hideous. You have to cook up a true monster.

Though, there she stands, unchanged. She is neither monster nor princess in this surreal picture.

She is nothing.

As long as she clutches his arms, she will never be the beauty you expect her to be.

You two connect- that's why she immediately lets go of Corey and walks to you-right?

"House," it is almost a breathy moan this time. You can't help but keep caustically laughing.

That's all there is to do.

"Leave the room," her almost inaudible whisper is convincing. You find yourself hobbling with remarkable instability towards the door. Jay and Jude shut the door behind you, that taunting, condescending smirk never leaving their lips.

It feels like a horror movie.

So strange.

Nothing makes sense. Your thoughts aren't cohesive, there is no continuity.

Nothing.

You hear Cameron's clenched, gritted whisper, "It wasn't anything! Corey, Corey listen to me."

You scoff at her cliche defense. Of course it was _something_. It was pure hatred, as she chose to classify it.

That raw intensity was greatness in it's purest form.

Everyone in that goddamn house knows that it's something.

"Allison. Please, stop. Just give me a second." Corey's almost soothing voice seems out of place- it is borderline awkward in this situation.

Reclined against their bedroom door, you hear it.

Her fingernails scraping against her trembling palm. Her clenched hand is loosing blood.

Her staccato inhalations of fear.

Her tongue playing piano against the back of her jailed teeth.

"Corey..." she begins, childlike wimpers escaping with her words

"What happened between you two. In Jersey."

Reminiscent, humorless laughs escape both your lips simultaneously.

"I...was intrigued by him. Everything about him. I guess that intrigue led to love, or something like it. We only went out once, my first year working with him. It was awful, to say the least. But, you know me Cor, I was stupid and I hung on. I thought part of him did too. There was no closure."

Closure.

There was a word that was often thrown around.

"So, that's it?" Corey's robotic voice halts your thoughts, "That kiss was your closure?"

There is only silence now, for there is nothing left to be said.

You understand.

You get it.

Corey loves her, and you hate her.

You remember being in Barnes and Noble years ago, reading some acting technique book by Michael Shurtleff. Audition, you think it's called. He wrote of opposites, and the need to play love.

Where hate resides, there is the most love of all.

It was bullshit then, and it's bullshit now.

So why do you feel like she'd be happier hating you than loving him?

"I don't know." she finally answers.

"Have you kissed before this?"

"When I worked for him-once. And here."

"More than once?"

"Corey." she pleads.

"More than once, Allison?"

You suspect that she is nodding ferociously, tears streaming down her face.

She's mortified to have been with you.

Embarrassed to have felt something for you.

You've hear enough, don't you think?

So you limp to the couch and turn on the television.

You elect to flip through the channels, one by one.

All one thousand of them.

"The L Word" appears on the screen just as a frail body exits the bedroom. You have to take a moment to decide which you'd rather watch.

"You're watching 'The L Word' right now? Of all times, House. Really?"

"Hey, you're the one to blame. Seeing you all angry and embarrassed made my pants a little bit shorter. I needed my girls."

"Shut up."

"Why are you out here. Shouldn't you be repairing your marriage?"

She gives you a melancholy smile, replacing the shame that she feels.

"House..." she stalks towards you, not daring to break eye contact. She challenges you with every step.

Her hand grazes your bicep, trailing down to your forearm.

You open your damn mouth, "Now, I could be wrong, but didn't we just get in trouble for this?"

There is no room between you two.

No margin of error.

"House," she searches into your eyes with such intensity, "do you want me?"

Even you don't break eye contact, as you evenly say,

"No"


	13. Cameron 7

**A/N: Thank you to CSI-IRELAND, ILoveHLaurie**, **arrrgylepirate, KittyX1981**, **iLikeLame, Das-Mullchen for the reviews, they are much appreciated. This chapter is so short it's embarrassing, but the rest are long. don't worry.  
**

No?

You're practically gauging out your heart and spreading your legs for this man.

And he just says "No"? Oh that's rich.

You almost laugh. Almost.

The betrayal that bubbles inside you pries your fingers off of him one by one. You almost stumble backwards- you're careful to catch yourself, before you fall into oblivion.

"You're joking. That's funny. That's-that's really-"

"Cameron," You begin to notice that you're trembling. It wouldn't have crossed your mind if he didn't warm your shoulders with his calloused palms. He's stalking towards you with an odd look embroidered into his face. It's stitched on awkwardly on his skin, it will not fit. It's an unfamiliar look of concern that mocks you with every inch he steals closer to you.

"Get away from me..." you whisper, huffing out the words. They slur together, mixing in with your slight loss of vision.

Your feet pick up speed and with hazy determination you fall into the office, click-clacking on computer keys with incredible speed.

You pretend not to notice that he's followed you.

Hatred seeps out of your pores, burning your skin. It trickles, in the form of sweat, down your neck and playing at your collarbone.

"You're impossible, you know that? You're not even here for a full week, and you manage to completely destroy my life. I was happy. Whenever I'm with you there are always strings attached, rules to follow, people to please, and hoops to jump through. I love Corey _so_ _much_. I love being Mrs. Corey. Richards more than you you will ever know."

House chuckles in your face and opens his mouth to speak, "Have you read Edwin Arlington Robinson?"

Your jaw is unhinged.

"_What?_" you whisper out of sheer disbelief.

" 'Whenever Richard Corey went down town

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown

Clean favored and imperially slim.'" House's voice trails off, and you cock your head sideways. You wait for movement, and sure enough, he continues. Simultaneously, your fingers click on the keyboard to the rhythm of the poem.

"'And he was always quietly arrayed

And he was human when he talked

But still he fluttered pulses when he said

'Good morning' and he glittered when he walked"

He pauses once more, waiting for your response.

"Where are you going with this," you mutter, utterly exasperated.

"Skipping a stanza...

'So on we worked and waited for the light

And went without meat and cursed the bread

And Richard Cory, one summer night

Went home and put a bullet through his head'"

The energy to glare has left you. What was the point of this little charade? He's laughing at your mockery of a perfect life, he's laughing at you.

"I never said I thought Corey was perfect. I never said anything was perfect! You don't need to taunt me and tell me everything is a sham just because you're not in it."

Without inhibitions, you press a final click of the mouse, and hand him a small stack of papers.

"Pack. You're flight is at 6 in the morning. When I wake up, I don't want you here." The firmness in your voice is almost out of character. Maybe that's why, whole-heartedly you whisper, "Have a safe flight" before closing the door and walking out.

Maybe it's guilt you feel at the beginnings of sunlight, because you could swear his figure is in your room, staring at you and your husband.

Maybe it's shame you feel when you enter the empty remains of his room and find not one trace of him.

Maybe it's everything.

Maybe it's nothing.

It's probably nothing at all

**A/N: ok, I am really sorry for the short chapter. but the next one is pretty long actually. Hopefully it'll make up for , here's my little rant:**

**I was re-watching Big Baby (don't ask why) and I just realized how much chemistry House and Cameron have. So, that (of course) inspired me to watch one of my favorite episodes: Role Model, and it seriously confirmed it. It's amazing, and so unspoken. I adore it. Which brings me to my point (which is both good and bad). I was on facebook, and I got a notification saying that Chase and Cameron were nominated for Best Couple, which utterly shocked me for a few reasons. 1) I couldn't believe that House and Cuddy weren't nominated. I mean, obviously I'm not a fan. I just expected that. and 2) How could this even be possible! They're barely given screen time, and even when they are, their relationship is so...shallow. Granted, it's not as bad as Foreteen, but it's just so sweet I can't stand it. I couldn't believe it. Any thoughts? Agree? Disagree?  
**


	14. House 7

**A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed. Again, much appreciated. For those who don't know (and I hope we all do) Huey, Dewey, and Louie were Donald Duck's nephews. So there's the information behind that reference. Well, this is the third-to-last chapter. Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything  
**

Ticket crumbled in hand, you teeter into your middle seat towards the rear of the airplane, sandwiched between two incredibly fidgety midgets. Or maybe they were children...

The tyke on the aisle seat pokes you.

Children.

Lucky you.

You remind yourself to thank Cameron for the _wonderful_ seat selection.

A tight lipped stewardess tip-toes to check the aircraft. As she heads your way, you slam your cane, creating a blockade (and simultaneously waking up the person on the opposite row).

"Yes sir?" she queries, all to robotically.

"I have a smidgen of a leg problem," you begin, inhaling massive amounts of air, "Could I scooch up to first class. Aisle seat. Preferably on the right side."

"Sir, I believe the policy is clear. I apologize."

"Lady...I'm crippled." You sound it out. Yeah, she's that dumb.

"No one may change classes. I'm sorry."

"This isn't the caste system...Or Seinfeld." You slam your cane once more, creating giggles from children and glares from adults. You know who you fit in with now.

"Can I bring you a complimentary drink?"

"No," you harrumph.

The aircraft lifts off, and your fingers begin tap-tapping on either armrest. The children on either side of you are mouthing words to one another.

The girl is by the window, gold hair spun into tight braids compliment her jade eyes. She'd be the hottie of the family, you know, when she gets past puberty...or at least when she reaches it.

The boy rocks back and forth in the aisle seat. Your aisle seat. His gelled N*SYNC styled hair tickles the chair, and his wide chocolate eyes scan the people in the airplane. Immediately, he notices your hand on the armrest.

"Hey mister, that's my armrest." He points with an almost unnoticeable lisp coating his words.

"Nuh-uh," you respond, "middle person gets both armrests. It's airplane etiquette."

"Whatever. I'm the kid, you have to be nice to me."

"Age before beauty." You reply, running your fingers through your hair. The kid is quick. He snatches that spot instantly and darts his tongue out at you. You make a twisted face, and he creates a carbon copy using his own, "Ok, see how long you can hold it for."

"Hey I wasn't born yesterday" the boy guffaws, "My face'll stick."

"Ryan, stop it," a meek voice criticizes, "I'm really sorry. He doesn't know how to control himself sometimes."

She looks not a day over nine, and she speaks with such intelligence.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Anne. Like Anne Boleyn. My mom named me after her."

"She got her head chopped off," you note.

She nods ferociously, "I know. But she changed all of England because she was determined to get what she wanted. My mom says she had a fire in her. I wanna change something."

"What do you want to change?" A genuine question, something you're not used to.

"I dunno yet. But something big." You nod as if that's the most inspirational thing you've ever heard. Like fucking Ghandi or Buddha just spoke to you. For some reason, it feels unquestionably honest.

"Where's your wife?" Anne asks.

"Don't have one."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen"

"What happened to your leg?"

"A magic trick went wrong."

"You look sad."

"Pfffh, no I don't," you scoff.

"Mmhm," she replies, smiling, "You can tell me. I won't say a peep. I'll keep Ryan quiet too. I pinky swear."

Her tiny finger wraps around his larger one, their thumbs meet.

It's sealed forever.

"There's just a girl-who's really annoying- who used to work for me. I just ran into her here on a business trip."

"You like her!" Anne concludes with a concealed squeal, "My mom always says that the boys who are mean to me really like me! I bet you're a real butt-face to her."

"...Big time." you mumble.

"Oh, sorry. Go on." She folds her hands in her lap, and grins widely-with whatever teeth are there.

"Well, I made her mad. And she made me leave. So now I'm going home, and I won't see her again," you then realized that it's you that sounds pathetic, "I don't care though. She was just fun to mess with."

"You kissed her. A lot. I can tell. I bet she's really pretty. And smart. This is so cute."

"No. No it's not."

"Just tell her you love her. It's that easy."

You chuckle at her naivete.

"Ew, gross." Ryan groans with a finger shoved up his nose.

You nod.

"Yeah, gross."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Home is not your first stop.

You wind up cruising down a street that leads to your life. Past, present, and future in its entirety.

With a dramatic "varoom", you swerve into your designated spot.

Your cane does your talking as you _thump-da-dump_ into the lobby. Visions of your past whiz in and out of your brain.

You recall standing there with Huey, Dewey and Louie trailing after you. Each of them pulling and breaking off little pieces of you to stuff in their back pocket.

The reason for that? You don't know yet. Either to mock, take anger out on, learn from or love. You suppose you'll never know.

Once more, your cane does your work and sets a numbered button aglow.

"House," a disturbingly low female voice barks.

"Cuddles!" you sing with synthetic joy.

"The conference isn't over for two more days. Why the hell are you here?"

"Oh, I hurt my leg."

"New choice," she prompts with a cross of her arms

"My fish got sick"

"New choice"

"I don't like this game." You whine, thrusting your cane into the floor for sheer emphasis.

Clearly perturbed, Cuddy looks upwards towards the ceiling. Her eyes search higher, attempting to see eye to eye with her higher power.

"Go see Wilson and then go home. I don't even want to know what happened during this trip. You're back early? Fine, there has got to be a good reason for it. I don't want it on my plate. Talk to Wilson, think about what he has to say, then ignore it, and then move on. Save some lives, or solve some puzzles. Whatever it is that you do. Just _do_ it."

You nod.

"Welcome back, House."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Back so soon?" Wilson prompts before you can even get in a dry crack.

"Yeah."

"What went wrong?"

"Everything that was expected. I'm surprised it went on as long as it did," you comment, your voice sliding out more nonchalant than you mean to. You recline in Wilson's chair behind his desk and slurp on his morning coffee.

"A couple days?"

"I was expecting maybe a couple hours."

Wilson exaggerates his sigh, and places the entirety of his weight on the window sill.

After too many minutes of silence, Wilson sighs again.

"She loves you."

"No she doesn't," you retort immediately.

"You love her."

"It was three days, Wilson."

Wilson shrugs.

There is nothing left to say.

Surreptitiously, he shuffles over to you, palms spread wide open.

"Do you have it?"

You nod. Dipped in the depths of your back pocket, your hands feel an all too familiar-too soothing- fabric. That of lace, and delicacy.

The deep red seems almost glorious.

The thong from the drawer is reconquered, though the battle seems pointless.

"Oh ho ho!" Wilson exclaims, with the greatest intent to lighten the mood.

"Keep it," you offer out of defeat. Though it is never a feeling of self-pity! You would never forgive yourself for that.

Again, you retreat back to what you know.

Your house.

Your piano.

Your television.

Your alcohol.

Your pills.

You vacuum in another Vicodin.

It seems to be the only constant in your life.


	15. Cameron 8 House 8

**A/N: I have no excuse for how long this took, but you'll never have to wait for another chapter in this because...well, it's coming to an end right here, right now. Thank you to EVERYONE that has reviewed, I greatly appreciate your support. Be on the lookout, I'll have more stories coming.  
**

**IMPORTANT- at the divider line, it switches to House's POV  
**

It's only a 3 weeks and four days later, and you're turning right.

You're walking forward a few steps, and then making a sharp left.

Away from Corey and everything that was stuffed in that name. He was right, you couldn't last long enough-not even close. You left at 6 months on the dot, not daring to move a second later. Even miles, and miles away from him, you could never let him be wrong.

When he was wrong it all was wrong. You, more than anyone, knew that long before.

You trot up the few stairs, petting your hair down, preventing it from bouncing.

Standing in front of that door makes your organs turn to mush, and your blood freeze over.

You tell yourself that you have not come to beg, you were far past that point in your life. If you truly had regretted leaving that team under that dictator, you would've begged for your job back years ago.

You felt like you left your dignity when you left New Jersey. Not all of it, but most. The rest withered away with all of your other moves and mistakes.

Standing here, though quivering with doubt-ridden thoughts, you feel like a younger and wilder version of you.

The girl with a speckle of pure hope in each eye. The girl with too much love. The girl with too much hurt.

You trace your fingers around the numbering and lettering on the door.

Two, Two, One, B.

You knock slowly.

Your heart beats at the same speed.

All you see is blue when the door opens.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

All you see is color when the door opens.

Suddenly the dull, hazy colors of moments ago shine vividly.

Color always simplified things, though the thought of this color frustrates you.

"You left," you say knowingly, not granting her entrance

"I left," she nods, acknowledging your superiority.

"Right." you nod, before beginning to shut the door smoothly in front of her glossy eyes.

She slams a hand to stop it, using a force you always thought she might have.

"Let me in," she pleads softly, using every ounce of power in her to keep from showing her fear.

Desperation is easier.

_No_, you think.

Thinking is pointless, she reads your mind every time.

"Wilson is coming over."

"So?"

"And Thirteen. I bet you can imagine what'll happen," he exaggerates with a wink.

She chuckles humorlessly.

"Oh, right. That younger version of _me_ you told me about."

You look at her with stone eyes.

"I never said she was like you. Nothing could compare to Allison Cameron."

Your sarcasm has never stung you like this.

Whatever, it's her own goddamn fault.

If you let her in, she'll leave you. Just like all the rest.

"I'm coming in," she demands, plowing through the door.

You sigh, choosing a new conversation, "So...you staying?"

"Yup." she answers, sauntering to the kitchen awkwardly, "Maybe."

She switches her answer quickly.

"Maybe?"

"If everything works out the way I want."

"That's dumb. Nothing ever works out the way you want. You don't get the white picket fence and the perfect job and everything you ever wished for. You don't even get an 'I love you.'"

You think she'll break eye contact with you. No, she holds her own, staring into your eyes fiercly.

"I'm not giving out any 'I love you's', why should I expect one?" her tone is dedicated to her desire of control.

You shrug, ending the stare down, and walk to the couch, turning on the television.

"The L Word is on," you note.

"Oh," she answers, almost uninterested.

"Sit." you say. It's a cross between a command and an offer. She cocks her head at the unfamiliar inflection.

"Ok."

She sits on the other end of the couch, keeping clear away from your imaginary vows of love.

Out of impulse, you pull her closer.

She looks up at you, starry eyed.

A faint hand reaches up and touches the scruff on your face, weaving in and out of the mazes. Lips reach up and strain slightly to kiss your cheek.

You meet her half way- the first time you've ever helped somebody.

You stare down, smirk at the woman beside you, and turn your head to the girls on the television.

You're glad the two of you never fell in love.

**A/N sorry it was a little sugar-sweet fluffy at the end. I was feeling a little sappy haha.**


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